ꜰᴏʀɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ

♥︎

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Clementine steps into the room, immediately greeted with the smell of sweet chocolate. Her eyes fell on the mug that had been forgotten on the table. The hot chocolate that had been steaming now cooled with a distinct chocolate ring surrounding the mug, dripping lines of chocolate staining the sides. A scrunched up napkin tossed to the side, dampened in hues of brown, by presumingly previous spills from before.

Clementine would be lying if she hadn't expected there would be a mess. She notes to give her extra napkins next time.

Her eyes travel down to the child that was lying on her stomach: Tallulah, a bright one who always wears a smile on her face. Even when she's fed lies and her parent's negligence, time after time showing no interest with her, she smiles. It's hard to not feel pity. And pity she felt, having volunteered, now serving as her caretaker.

Hovering over, she crouched down and peaked above her shoulder. In front of the child was a sheet of paper, crayons sprawled out over with some at a far distance. A self drawn image was in progress.

"Wow, Tallulah, these drawings look amazing!" Clementine praised, fascination easily lacing her words from experience. She watched as Tallulah stopped to glance over her shoulder, smiling once making eye contact. She found herself returning the smile. Tallulah giggled and resumed coloring. Silence passed them once more before she broke the silence. "Who might these be?"

Tallulah laughed wholeheartedly, covering her mouth as she did so. Buzzing delightfully, seemingly thrilled with the topic. "I'm drawing you and me, silly! Look! This is me—" she pointed to the drawing that had overgrown brown curls with an obnoxious yellow to represent her hazel eyes— "and this is you, Clem!" She pointed to the other drawing with hair the color as a ripe blackberry and purple eyes, holding one hand with the others and the other holding a mug with undoubtedly hot chocolate milk.

Clementine furrows her brow. The longer she stares at the drawing, the longer she begins to question. She feels a downturn in the corners of her lips. "Where are your parents, Tallulah?" Tallulah tilts her head at the question, making eye contact with her once more. She gasps once understanding the question.

"This is meant to be a family photo. I'm not allowed to be in them so I'll just create my own!" Tallulah turns away from her. She breaks into a mischievous grin. "Since they didn't add me, I'm not adding them. I think that's remotely fair!"

Clementine stifled her laughter with a cough, a mirthful grin easily plastered across her face. An ever justified pride worms in her heart because she was the one who taught her the best form of diplomacy: the art of being petty. Not her mother or her father, her. Her smile melts into something more fond. She can feel her eyes softening. She brings a hand up to Tallulah's head and pats it. "I'm honored. You've drawn me so pretty."

"That's because you look so pretty," the child quipped, nodding to herself proudly. And with that, Clementine watched as she added on to the drawing version of her. She continued to observe Tallulah's masterpiece as she began to add trees.

She didn't know how long time passed until the child's voice startled her out of her thoughts.

"How do people accept death?"

Clementine choked, taken aback by the question. "Pardon?" She squeaked, wincing to herself at the waver in her voice. Tallulah huffed indignantly, kicking her legs faster and angrily. She was quick to stop once growing strenuous at the repetitive motion and flopped her legs out.

"I said how do people accept death?" Tallulah repeated snappily, grumbling under her breath.

Despite the tease and playful tone, Clementine remained utterly stiff, utterly frozen, utterly unable to speak. She continued to stare with nothing to say in response. In different situations, she would've easily responded by now. With how much experience she carries, a quick response would easily let the conversation flow—with Tallulah being the one to lead. But even with years of experience, she couldn't find words to say. No matter how hard she tries to make a word—noise out, nothing would happen. Instead what was supposed to be words was a harsh, staggered breath.